


Home has No Secrets

by MerlinFicDriveThru



Category: Merlin (TV)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-09-30
Updated: 2015-09-30
Packaged: 2018-04-24 05:07:58
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,189
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4906675
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/MerlinFicDriveThru/pseuds/MerlinFicDriveThru
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Prompt: Elyan secretly has magic. Any pairing or gen, no rating!</p><p>Elyan left Camelot with a secret and he returns with it, too.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Home has No Secrets

Elyan had a secret.

A secret from when he was a boy, pottering after his father in the smithy and bringing the nails to his mother. She taught him what tools to use, what runes and where. She taught him the power in well-placed symbols.

Their nails never bent or crumbled, etched with the smallest marking in the top.

She bought him books and helped him hold a steady hand for writing.

_Wait until the metal is cooled and pick up your hammer. Light taps for thinner grooves, harder taps for deeper marks._

_Keep your work clean and sharp. Sloppy runes mean sloppy spells. Sloppy spells get people killed._

_Clear your head and steady your hand. Never let your thoughts wonder. Your heart will guide the magic, but the magic can break your heart._

When the Purge came to Camelot, all fire and death and demons, his mother gathered him up and ran. He remembered hearing his sister’s cry in the other room. His father was mumbling low and sweet, sorrow in the soft comfort of his lies.

Elyan remembered, heart racing and blood pounding, hearing his father through the thin walls.

“Momma will come back some day, don’t worry.”

Twenty years later, and Momma hadn’t come back.

And Elyan still had a secret.

He’d found his sister in a jail cell.

He knew her by her eyes, and the way her brow furrowed just like their mothers, and her hands clenched just like their fathers. He knew her by her anger and he knew her by her fear. He knew her by the love that clenched in his heart when he whispered her name across the dirty floor.

He knew her by his magic that called out their shared blood and searched for an answer.

But Gwen had never had magic, and so Elyan kept his secret. Even when she asked him with hurt words and splintering cries why he’d never returned. She didn’t ask where their mother was and he was glad to be free of that burden.

“How did you end up in this dungeon, of all places?” He asked.

“They grabbed me from home. I tried to fight them off but…” Gwen looked away, her shoulders hunched, caging her off from him. “I don’t know why they picked me or how they knew where I live. I just don’t know.”

Elyan frowned, but he didn’t have any answers for her either.

“What about you?” Gwen’s voice shook, but her eyes were steady on his. “How’d you end up here?”

He wondered if he should tell her that Cenred found out about his reputation for unusual blades. How he’d been questioned and beaten and tested. Cenred had taken his wares to listen to the blade sing, to look at the impossible sharpness of the edge, the balance beyond what blacksmith hands could do. They were simple spells, the runes easy and well-practiced by now, but Elyan had never told why his swords were so good.

The runes were under wraps, hidden in the handle. If anyone asked, Elyan said it was his mark for them, so he’d always know what blades he’d made. Until Cenred, his excuses had never been questioned.

He looked at Gwen, at the distrust already in her scowl and her posture and her eyes, and knew he couldn’t tell her.

“I don’t know. They must have kidnapped me like they did you.”

He and Gwen didn’t talk again for a while. He knew there was a deal to be made, that one of them would be used and sent off.

He knew the dark haired woman had plans and Cenred was fool enough to listen to them.

Despite all he knew, he was not prepared when they took Gwen away, yanking her by her ropes. She turned back to him with one last desperate look but he couldn’t move to save her before they closed the gates.

It was two days before he heard from anyone again.

He counted the rats running in the dungeon and the guards passing with shifty eyes in front of his bars. He twisted his wrists in his ropes and traced the runes of protection in his cloak.

He was attempting sleep for the sixth time when he heard the thump at the door.

The guard slid down and Elyan waited. He could feel magic sizzling in the air. When two men came in, opposites in every way, he knew immediately which one had magic.

The sorcerer was all dark hair and long limbs and high cheekbones when he leaned over the fallen guard. “Must’ve fallen asleep.”  
“Honestly, Merlin, that’s the third one so far. What kind of security is this?”

“I don’t know, Sire,” Merlin grinned, “Not every knight can be as good as Camelot’s.”

“You’re from Camelot?” Elyan burst out, something like dread unfurling from his chest. “Gwen must have sent you. You’re Prince Arthur.”

“Well, that’s not usually how introductions go, but you’re not wrong.” Arthur frowned, struggling with the lock. “Don’t just sit there, Merlin, hand me the keys.”

“I’m Elyan. Look, you have to go. Cenred’s working with sorcerers and he has every intention of killing you.”

“Yes, well, as it happens a close friend of ours is really looking forward to her brother being home.” Arthur glared half-heartedly at Merlin when he handed the keys over. “And that’s exactly what you’re going to do. You’re going to go home with your sister and stop wondering around like an idiot.”

Elyan didn’t have the chance to get offended. The room filled with guards. Elyan wondered if Merlin would use his magic, but he did nothing.

It was Arthur who sprang into action. He moved graceful and silent, sword ready and body silent. Elyan had seen men fight, but he’d never seen men move like Arthur. He caught men on the end of his sword, swiped them over through their light armor, cutting in every weak spot in their armor.

He didn’t look away from Arthur until the guards had backed away, three of them already down. “Where’s Cenred? What purpose does he have for this man?”

None of the guards spoke, their expressions stony as they glanced around their group. Arthur made a noise in the back of his throat like a growl. Elyan winced when he grabbed a guard by the collar and slammed him back.

“Take me to Cenred. That’s an order.”

The guards exchanged glances again. Elyan saw Merlin’s eyes flash gold and the guard in Arthur’s grip went slack. Merlin turned to Elyan and held up a finger.

“What on earth is wrong with your guards?!” Arthur rounded the other two, both of them scrambling over themselves to back away. “Take me to your bloody king before I cut both of you up. Merlin, unlock Elyan and get him to Gwen.”

“You’re planning on dealing with Cenred alone?” Elyan’s voice was incredulous, but Merlin only shook his head.

“The prat thinks he’s invincible. Doesn’t believe he gets any help.” There was an edge to Merlin’s words that Elyan could read a mile away. Arthur looked away with a roll of his eyes, and Elyan wondered if Arthur could read it too.

“Just let Elyan out, Merlin.” Arthur glared at the two guards. “I can handle Cenred.”

Merlin waited until Arthur was led away before he murmured under his breath and the lock fell away. “Does your magic always do that? It’s a bit unnerving.”

“Does yours?” Elyan grabbed a sword, unwrapping the hilt to reveal his symbols still etched into the metal. Of course Cenred would have already utilized the weapons he stole from Elyan. “We’re going after him, right?”

“Are you mad? I can’t let the prince die on an outing to get silk.” Merlin scoffed and chased after the sound of armor echoing off the walls.

Elyan rounded behind him. He’d been to Cenred’s throne room, but he hadn’t been conscious most of the way there. Each hallway looked the same, each door exactly like the last. Still, Merlin moved forward as if he knew exactly where to go.

They managed to find Arthur right as Cenred turned on him.

Elyan could see the dark haired woman on the floor. Arthur wasn’t watching her. His attention was on Cenred, on the cackling and the superfluous speech. She may as well have been invisible.

Arthur still hadn’t looked at her when she lifted a sword from the floor. She moved quick, on her feet in the time it took for the scrape of metal on earth to be heard around the room.

This loud, boisterous man had run headlong into danger to save him, all on the word of his sister. Elyan didn’t think. He ran, sword swung up, to catch the woman’s blade before it could sink into the Prince.

“Morgana?”

Arthur’s question was shaky, his voice no longer full of righteous anger or selfless determination. He sounded scared and weary, as if this one attack had shattered him without a touch.

Morgana didn’t respond. She stepped back, eyes wide, mouth open, hands shaking, and then she was gone.

Elyan was starting to wonder if everyone from Camelot had magic.

“You saved my life. What would you like in return?” Arthur sounded flat, the grip on Elyan’s shoulder loose.

“I just want to go home.” Elyan turned, expecting to see Cenred raging at the loss of his sorcerer.

Instead, he saw Merlin crouched over him, badly faked surprise on his face. “Must have passed out from shock.”

“Whatever. Let’s go.” Arthur waved him on, but Elyan watched.

“Arthur? Are you ok?” Merlin asked what Elyan couldn’t.

“Morgana’s a sorcerer, Merlin!” Arthur shouted, the hurt bouncing off the walls. “I’ve trusted her all my life.”

Merlin didn’t hide his own pain well, but Arthur only slumped his shoulders and walked on.

They exited the castle into a black night, stars like glaring eyes on all their secrets. Gwen nearly crushed him in a hug when she saw them, but her excitement was short lived.

“Where’s Morgana?” Gwen’s lips thinned, her eyes darting around the group.

“She died,” was all Arthur said.

Gwen stumbled like he’d struck her. “Shouldn’t we… shouldn’t we take her body back?” She was breathless, her face pale.

“No body.” Arthur was speaking in monotone now. Merlin wouldn’t look at him.

Elyan frowned and risked reaching out to Arthur. “I’m sure things are not what they seemed.”

“I’m pretty sure they’re exactly what they seemed.”

“I don’t understand. What happened?” Gwen turned to Merlin, but Merlin’s face was pinched in pain. He only looked at Arthur, but couldn’t speak.

“Things will be alright, Gwen.” Elyan said instead. He tried to reach for her as well, to comfort her with a lifetime of inexperience.

She jerked away, tears streaming. “I’ve been told that before.”

She walked away from them, her shoulders shaking on occasion.

“She’s not to know. She loved Morgana. To know that Morgana had a hand in this would break her.”

“She deserves to know the truth.” Merlin spoke up. Elyan wondered how strongly Merlin was convinced of honesty’s good cause.

“You don’t understand, Merlin.” Arthur spun towards him, nearly crashing into Elyan in the process. “She _loved_ Morgana. She can’t know.”

“It’s ok to hope for change, Sire.” Elyan risked speaking. Merlin looked about to shatter into pieces. “Morgana is not lost.”

“Magic is an evil. It destroys whoever it touches.” Arthur’s voice had the echo of someone else’s words. “I’d rather she was dead.”

Elyan felt a burn against his hand, an anger in his chest. “If Gwen was a sorcerer, I’d never abandon her. If she was a monster, I’d protect her. Maybe you shouldn’t have saved me.”

He moved away, afraid for the first time in years that he’d given himself away.

Arthur spoke behind him, bitter and mocking, “Strange. She says you abandoned her for years.”

“You really are an arse, you know that,  _Sire_?” Merlin hissed, moving until he stood beside Elyan.

Arthur walked alone the rest of the way to Camelot.

Elyan arrived home and found that blacksmithing was as comfortable as it always had been. No one questioned the runes on his swords. No one accused him of trickery when they bought armor that never bent or hammers that pushed nails through wood like butter. Business picked up and Gwen eventually laughed at him again.

Elyan still had his secrets, but life in Camelot seemed not to care.

So when he received a summons from Arthur a month later, he nearly fumbled it into the fire. Gwen led him up to the castle and wished him luck with just the smallest tinge of fear. He didn’t look back at her as he walked up the steps to the throne room.

“We’ve received several praises for your wares, Elyan. Superior blacksmithing seems to run in your family.” Arthur spoke, but he didn’t sound like the man who’d burst through Elyan’s jail cell to save him. He slouched in his seat, his eyes dull and his hair mussed from nervous hands running through it. “As you know, the royal family traditionally keeps working with the living family in a trade after the death of the father. However, since you were not present for a majority of your life, we were uncertain whether your skills would be up to our standards.”

“I hope to have proven myself, Sire.” Elyan bowed, already seeing where this was going. Selling to the royal family would keep him and Gwen with food and comforts. It was an offer that he quite literally could not turn down.

“We would like to continue our business with you as we did with your father.”

“Of course, Sire.” Elyan stood, eying Arthur as well as he could under the watchful eye of the King. “In a show of my gratitude for your business, I would like to gift to you a sword.”

Arthur sat up, surprised, and nodded. “Accepted.”

Elyan worked late into the night on the sword, firing and cooling and stretching and hammering until he had a blade good enough to suit the Prince. He remembered the fluid grace of his fighting, the rigid strength of his orders. He etched runes onto the blade as light as he could, delicate magic that he’d not attempted in years.

He recalled the fire from Arthur’s eyes that had faded with pain and betrayal. He remembered the sting of Arthur’s hatred of magic and worked harder.

Protection carved into the bone hilt.  _Keep him safe. Never swing to slow to block. Never slip from even the loosest grip._

Balance in the long blade, entwined with confidence and surety.  _Keep his steps sure and his grip true. Never turn unsteady. Never break his concentration. Never make his hope falter._

Strength in the guard for him and for his metal.  _Keep him from tiring. Never shatter in the heat of battle. Never rust or brittle. Never wear away his power._

When Arthur came to gather the sword, Elyan kept it wrapped. Merlin would recognize the runes. Merlin knew his secret.

Arthur stood awkwardly after Elyan handed him the sword, giving Merlin a look that sent the servant whistling off towards a nearby market stall. When he was sure Merlin was far enough away, Arthur spoke. “I wanted to apologize for my comment that day. It has been brought to my attention that you were just a child when you were taken away. It is not fair to put that decision on you. We all have been subject to the decisions of another.”

“I could have come back sooner. It wasn’t entirely uncalled for.” Elyan looked away from the brightness of Arthur’s blue eyes.

“You travelled outside of Camelot for many years.”

Elyan nodded.

“Did you mean what you said? That Morgana may not be lost?”

“Of course I did. I would not have said it had I not meant it.”

“Good. Prepare yourself tomorrow. We’re going to find her.” Arthur didn’t wait for him to agree. He left Elyan standing in his smithy, shocked and scrambling to understand what this meant for his secret.

Arthur came by early the next morning with three horses and Merlin.

“What was I supposed to tell Gwen?” Elyan didn’t move from the doorway. “I can’t exactly tell her we’re going after a woman she believes to be dead.”

“Tell her I required your help on a hunt.”

“Arthur likes to use the hunt as an excuse for everything.” Merlin shrugged.

“I’m sure she’ll not suspect anything. If we find Morgana and bring her back, then she’ll only be happy.”

“And if we find Morgana and don’t bring her back?” Elyan grabbed a scrap of rough paper and wrote a quick note. “If one of us gets hurt or worse? Morgana is powerful.”

“We’ll figure that out then.”

No one said anything else as Elyan climbed onto his horse. They stayed silent all the way to the forest before Merlin started groaning about his bum and his back and his legs. Arthur responded to his complaints by speeding up.

It was more life than the Prince had shown in almost a month.

Elyan tried to pretend like he didn’t watch Arthur for signs of healing.

He tried to pretend he didn’t think first of Arthur’s life when there were rustles in the trees.

He tried to pretend he didn’t agree to do all of this so that Arthur may not look so hollow.

And all the while, he tried to pretend he couldn’t feel Arthur’s eyes on him.

“What did you do while you were gone all those years? There’s no record of you taking up a smithy of your own in any towns around here.” Arthur asked when they’d set up a fire and Merlin had eventually fell into a murmuring sleep.

“I didn’t take up any of my own. I’d stay in one for a while, making swords and shields and weapons, sell them, and move on. I’ve always been mostly accepted. My mother taught me how to accept hospitality and how to be grateful.”

“Did she teach you how to make your wares? A smith of your quality is hard to find.” Arthur glanced at his sword, running his fingers over the markings that gleamed in the firelight.

“She taught me how to improve on the skill my father gave me.” Elyan smiled at the memory of her fingers over his, warning him to keep his hand steady.

_Clear your head and steady your hand._

It had been years and years since his head had been clear, but his hand was always steady.

“The sword you made me is remarkably like one your father made.” Arthur frowned, pulling a sword from Merlin’s horse. “Merlin drags it out every now and then, but it is the kind of quality work that made us keep him for so long.”

Elyan didn’t dare touch it. The sword was practically singing with magic. It shined too bright in the firelight, the edge too perfect. “There’s no way my father made this,” he whispered, before he could stop himself.

Arthur scowled. “I assure you it is Tom’s best work, surely, but he made it himself. It was a gift.”

Elyan looked away from the blade, confusion and hurt stinging in his eyes. “He must have improved.”

Arthur ran his hands through his blond hair, letting out a huff of agitation. “I did it again. Your father must be difficult to talk about.”

“Yes, he is.” Elyan turned on his side, away from Arthur, mind still on the magic sword. “I think I’ll turn in for the night, Sire.”

“Right then.” Arthur let out another aggravated huff, though Elyan wasn’t sure whether the irritation was him or Arthur’s own insensitivity.

The next day, Merlin gave Elyan a strange look, his eyes wide and his lips pursed, but he didn’t say anything. Elyan wondered how asleep Merlin really had been last night, and if he knew that Elyan knew.

“Do we have a plan if we find Morgana?” Elyan spoke up, not for the first time thinking that this trip was a poorly thought out result of guilt and worry.

“Try to talk to her. If we can’t, we’ll just have to drag her home.” Arthur didn’t look at either of them when he spoke, but Elyan recognized the rigid shoulders and set jaw. It was a posture he’d taken many times when he was convincing himself that going home would be too dangerous.

“It is not wrong to want to save her, Sire.” Elyan looked to Merlin for support, but Merlin was looking between Arthur and Elyan with a twitching smile. Elyan shook his head. “That is why you didn’t tell anyone at Camelot about her magic?”

Arthur didn’t answer, eyes unwavering on the path ahead. Merlin shook his head. “Arthur doesn’t like for people to notice when he does things like care.”

“Shut up, dollophead.”

“See, he insults people when they figure it out.” Merlin grinned, and began to speak too loudly, “Weird that he hasn’t insulted you yet. Why, it seems downright  _nice._ ”

Arthur was bright red when he finally turned to Merlin, gritting his teeth. “Will you shut up! You’re going to get us caught.”

“Caught by what, exactly?” Merlin looked around the forest, laughing. “We’re in the middle of nowhere surrounded by trees and bugs. I don’t think  _they_ —”

Which was, of course, when someone broke through the trees and screamed. It was a high, shrieking kind of scream that made Elyan’s blood run cold.

Morgana was stumbling towards them, cut up and bruised. Her hair was tangled with brambles and her dress was covered in dirt and mud. Elyan wasn’t even sure she could actually see them. She was mumbling to herself, her hands clenching and unclenching.

“Morgana?” Arthur whispered her name, fear already stirring the horses to unrest.

Her head jerked around to find him eyes, searching the air where his head was without seeming to recognize anything.

He was off his horse and running towards her before Merlin or Elyan could stop him.

“Arthur, no!” They shouted together, but not before Morgana screamed again, hand stretched out in front of her, knocking Arthur back. He drifted down, safe and protected by the gold glow of magic.

Elyan leapt from his horse and rolled, coming to stand in front of Arthur.

“What are you doing?” Arthur scowled from his spot splayed against the dried leaves. “She’s out of it. She’ll kill you!”

Morgana saw Elyan’s sword, the runes glowing in a way he’d never seen before.

_Your heart controls the magic…_

Morgana pushed him back, eyes too wide and movements too erratic. She couldn’t even see him. She was seeing attacks and enemies where there were none.

Arthur was backing away from both of them. His head was shaking, his eyes on Elyan’s sword with fear. He pulled his own out and saw the runes, glowing the tell-tale gold of magic.

_But the magic can break your heart._

Elyan threw his sword away and leapt towards her, feeling the brush of her magic over his skin. It tried to push him off, tried to cut through him and shove him away, but he pressed forward.

Morgana tensed when his arms wrapped around her, her eyes forced to her sides. He could hear Merlin screaming at Arthur to stop behind him.

“You are safe, Morgana.” Elyan whispered it to her, soothing as best he could while he waited for the blow against his back. He repeated it over and over again, until she stopped whimpering against him, stopped struggling to pull her arms away.

Elyan had no more secrets.

The blow never came.

“You’re a fool, you know that, Elyan?” Arthur said, but his voice was weak. He was still holding his sword, the runes still glowing bright. “What kind of… You’re a sorcerer? But you helped me.”

“Yeah, well,” Elyan looked at Merlin. “Maybe magic deserves to prove itself.” He kept on arm around Morgana and helped her onto her horse. She barely seemed to recognize them. Elyan could see evidence of torture on her arms before she hugged the scars against her body. “Maybe we’re not the monsters you think we are.”

Merlin gave a shaky grin, but didn’t reveal himself. Elyan couldn’t blame him. Arthur looked like he might be sick.

“I think you two might be great together,” Merlin said. “Maybe magic can live in the  _heart_ of Camelot after all.”

“You know, Merlin, you’re not subtle.” Elyan tried to joke, but his voice was too shaky. He was still staring at Arthur, waiting for a real reaction. For him to tell Elyan to leave, for him to strike him down or throw the sword away or anything.

“I’m not the one who’s been mooning over you since we found you in a dusty dungeon.” Merlin shrugged, moving to pat Arthur’s shoulder. “Isn’t that right, Sire?”

Arthur didn’t respond, but the look he gave Elyan as he passed to mount his horse was soft. “Let’s just go home.”


End file.
